


A Plan Goes Wrong

by Callistra



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-16
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callistra/pseuds/Callistra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plans go wrong in Episode 15, 'Conversion' leaving Kahlan in the hands of Darken Rahl.</p><p><i>Something crucial to her had been taken away. He reached up and traced the line of her temple, across the large bruise. She flinched away, but not before he saw a flash of unthinking horror. He was close enough to smell her. Sweat, fear, desperation. He leaned in until his mouth was an inch from her bared neck. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Plan Goes Wrong

Episode 15, “Conversion”

 **  
_A Plan Goes Wrong_   
**

What if things had gone differently when Kahlan was captured?              

 

Giller stared into her eyes, shock freezing him. He slowly began to grin. Kahlan’s hand loosened from his neck in her surprise.

                “A Confessor!” he shouted. “A real live Confessor… and I remain untouched!” The mailed fist of his guard struck her temple and she fell to the stones, unconscious.

                “Do not damage the goods,” Giller said as he crouched next to Kahlan. He lifted her head to view the growing bruise.

                “My Lord, that was incredibly dangerous,” the soldier whispered urgently. “We don’t know how many insurgents there are …”

                “A real live Confessor,” Giller was ignoring him, lost in the pleasure of his success. He ran his hands through the air, ten centimetres above her body. “I can feel her energy points. What a prize! Darken Rahl will be exquisitely pleased,” he muttered, pushing his long dark hair back as he examined more of Kahlan without touching her. His cheeks flushed brilliantly with excitement against his pale skin. “We are so close, and now a gift has fallen into our laps.” His eyes darted to the guard.

                “Secure her properly. He is due at any moment, and he will want to see this.” He chose to ignore the slight pull to the guard’s mouth; dissent was unheard of. An instant later the unconscious woman was carried to his lab.

 

                Giller’s smug little face was the first thing he saw when he appeared into the hall. He repressed a sigh. Behind him, however, were visions to make a man smile. Two Mord’Sith stood to attention. Seeing his arrival, Gana raised one eyebrow a mere millimetre and lifted her nose; an invitation if he ever saw. Thela simply sniffed, but when his gaze moved to her he could see the tiniest hints of arousal as her pupils dilated. He gave Giller a welcoming smirk.

                “Tell me, my pet wizard, what news do you have?” He stepped from the pentagram, expecting Giller to hem, haw, and hedge as he always did.

                “I have a prize, my Lord,” Giller’s words tumbled through his uncouth sniffing. Rahl almost tripped in surprise.

                “You do? How is your work coming along?” he asked, leading the way to the wizard’s lab. The click of Mord’Sith heels on stone soothed him as he waited for Giller to spew the words that had him so excited.

                “We captured a woman, my Lord, a special woman…” Giller said. In the lab the woman stood, bound tightly to an upraised table. Empty chains hung in nooks around the room, and a small table of arcane instruments sat next to her knee. Larger tables with documents and potions and general mess showed the activities of countless late nights. The woman turned blue eyes onto him. He examined her critically.

                Her hair was an unruly mess, longish, rough with curls and unkempt. Her eyes were her best asset; large, blue, darkly lashed. His gaze dipped across the rest of her. Her breasts were firm and high, her hips well spread and her waist appeared trim. He shrugged. She looked like a thousand other women who sought his company night and day. Around her throat a thick leather bandage with a series of circles caught his attention. No blood stains meant she had not yet been used for the experiment. She was alert, her wide eyes taking inventory of him.

                “And what is so valuable about this woman above all others?” Darken Rahl’s voice was low with threat.  He crossed his arms and stood with his feet apart, ready to act if Giller displeased him.

                “A Confessor, my Lord. A Confessor! And she had no power over me,” Giller’s delight was distasteful to hear, but Rahl turned to look at him.

                “You are further along in your studies than I thought,” he said carefully. He kept his shock hidden. The excited imbecile would tell him everything in his own time.

                “A potion, Lord Rahl -,” and Giller ran like a lovesick fool to get one of the vials from the furthest desk and put it into Rahl’s hand. The fluid was slow and silver. It oozed and the vial was warm in his hand. “I took the potion and have been immune to the witch’s power since.”

                 Rahl shrugged, popped the top of the vial and sucked the potion down. His belly warmed as spells and arcane magic stirred within, and then the sensations stopped. He looked at his hands and then his palms. He felt no different. The woman stared at him, and he took great pleasure in ignoring her; Confessor would not be used to indifference. He handed the empty vial back to his empty vassal.

                “I don’t feel any different,” he said. “But there’s only one way to test this sort of thing,” he said, and grabbed Giller by the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the tendons there. He thrust him at the woman, and they collided. The boards rocked alarmingly, but Giller untangled himself without issue, and the woman just looked uncomfortable. He stepped in closer to the woman.

               “Are you sure she’s a Confessor?” he asked softly, his eyes boring in hers. His full attention was riveted to her stare.

               “I have witnesses, my Lord, when she tried to Confess me,” Giller said with a hint of pride in his voice. Rahl took another step. There was something in the woman’s gaze. Fear, of course, but also… uncertainty. Something crucial to her had been taken away. He reached up and traced the line of her temple, across the large bruise. She flinched away, but not before he saw a flash of unthinking horror. He was close enough to smell her. Sweat, fear, desperation. He leaned in until his mouth was an inch from her bared neck.

                “What is your name?” he asked, sure he already knew the answer. There was only one Confessor wandering the land he knew of.

               “Kahlan,” she whispered with scorn. He drew back, a smile of triumph lighting his features.

               “Send her to my castle,” he instructed. “You had best be prepared,” Rahl told Giller, whose face paled the guards prepared to transport Kahlan. “The Seeker never goes far from his Confessor. You might be expecting a little visit, perhaps.” Giller opened his mouth, and Rahl wondered – would he argue about taking the Confessor, or was he about to request aid against a rampant Seeker? He waited one breathless second.

               “Yes my Lord,” Giller said, opting for the safe answer. Rahl was almost disappointed. He did so like a challenge.

 

               He sat on a chaise to watch as the Mord’Sith wheeled her in, bumping the table on steps and caring naught for her comfort. The woman still looked dour; her hair had fallen forward and she hid behind it. What solace a few strands of hair could provide! He ran his hands through his thick black hair, and held one knee to his chest as he stared at her. Chen and Lei finished putting Kahlan’s table where he wanted it. Behind her the window was wide open and sunlight flooded the room with autumn gold. He could see clouds and birds behind her, a lovely juxtaposition of freedom and captivity. The Mord’Sith gone, he sat in silence, partaking of the view before him.

               “Your rooms are lovely,” she said in surprise. He gave his rooms a brief glance. The rugs and tapestries were the finest looted or commissioned, and his bed the same one his father and his father’s father had lain in. Tables dotted the room for various use, and doors led to other rooms and ablution areas. He shrugged but chose not to speak. Her eyes flicked to his due to his silence. He caught her gaze and held it, curiously. She was afraid and uncertain. What about this woman made a Seeker love her? What about this woman gave her a power that had driven all touch from her life and made her caresses too dangerous for the caressed? What had life been like, unable to hug or kiss for fear of destroying another’s soul? No answers appeared in her gaze.

                She was growing uncomfortable. Her glance fell away and down, and he watched the minutiae in her expression as she struggled to maintain her composure. Surely she expected to be tortured in some nefarious manner, used to bring the Seeker to his knees, or perhaps as a tool to keep his Council in place. She was a useful woman to have around. If she did what she was told to do. How had she come to put herself in danger? Was she a hot head, given to anger? Or had they come up with some crazy plan for some minor heroic gesture and her lot had been to lose? Had she been under his orders, she would have been saved for times when her skills were most crucial. She looked like any other, her hair dull with dirt and the bruises smudged with ash. What had they been doing?

               “Why are you staring at me?” her voice was a broken whisper. She couldn’t keep the fear from her words, much as she tried. He relished her terror, choosing silence once again as his weapon.

                “What are you going to do with me?” she asked, and her chin jerked upwards. Was she on the verge of tears? Would she weep, tied to a board? Would she have runnels of cleanliness down her cheeks from said tears? Another thought struck him; she must never have touched a man, never shared her thighs with another. What half-life would that be? Confessor powers usually manifested when the girl was six or seven, before she was old enough to take a mate or consider building a home. A blessing and a curse. He stood, and folded his hands behind his head, tensing his shoulders until he heard tendons pop, and then left the room. Silence would do her good.

 

                The sun was long gone when he returned to his chambers. He stood outside the doors, leaning against the wall and one leg bent, boot against the wall. He tapped with a toe, the only sign of his impatience. Slaves ran in and out of the room and he could hear the slosh of water being poured. A woman’s voice raised in questions was ignored time and time again. Did the damned woman ever shut up? He would teach her silence, and gratitude. Finally the hubbub died away, and the last slave stepped out of his room, bobbed to him, and muttered something about the bath being complete. He waved her away with a dismissive flick of his fingers. The door shut behind her, and he waited a few moments before he pushed it open again and stepped into his chambers.

               Lamps lit the room in gentle light. Kahlan was, of course, still strapped to a board, but in the centre of the room in front of the chaise a huge bath steamed. He could barely see her through the damp cloud. His window was shut and the tapestries drawn. The scent of grease and cheese hung heavy in the air, and he noted a small table covered with food next to his chaise.

               He could see the glimmer of her blue eyes through the steam, and moved to the chaise, reaching for food. She would be hungry, and would smell the food. He ate noisily, hoping she might speak and disappointed when she did not. Replete, he sat back in the lounge and folded his arms behind his head and watched her. The bath continued to steam gently. She had now been strapped to the table for three quarters of a day under his care, and he did not know how many hours under Giller’s hands. Her body would be aching and sore from the unusual positions forced upon it, and the continued bondage.

               He stood and moved to stand beside her. She turned her head to watch every step, the way a mouse might watch a lion. He pulled out his dagger from his boot, and she caught her breath. He sliced away the leather band from her neck, and then stripped the others from key points on her body. She was not for Giller’s experiments anymore and these were not needed. Her bindings were stiff leather, the heavy buckles at the front. He judged she might be unable to walk for a few minutes, given the restriction was sufficient to keep her off her feet. Under the bindings she wore a sturdy undergarment, hardly the silks and lace of a loved one. He released her legs first, and then released the two across her chest and belly simultaneously. She fell into his arms with a cry. He steadied her, inhaling her raw earthy smell and closing his eyes against the tickle of her hair. He could feel her body trembling, her heart running as if to escape. She swallowed noisily as her feet found purchase on the floor.

               “Please,” she whispered.  Please what? Put me down? Let me go? Don’t hurt me? He let her find her balance and then slipped the dagger into the neckline of her garment. She looked into his eyes; they were the same height. Her lips parted slightly and she gasped as the blade sliced the slip from her body. She jerked as she tried to cover herself just as he gripped her more tightly to stop her movements. He could only see her eyes and the shame that rose in her cheeks. He would observe more of his prize later. The moment crystalized between them. This was what he wanted her for. The power he had over this woman was intoxicating. Barely an inch between them, he came to realise his knife lay along her back, her body pressed against him. She drew a shaky breath, her body rising and falling in his arms.

               He let the knife fall from her back, and loosened his grip so her slip fell to the rug.  She made a tiny noise as the knife clattered behind her, and he saw the urge to fight in her eyes. He waited, sure she would be incapacitated by her imprisonment. The disappointment in her eyes meant he was correct. When her move came it was sloppy and ill disciplined. He stepped to one side, reaching up to grasp her by the back of the neck as her hand skidded uselessly along his waistcoat. She cried out as his fingers bit deep.

               She was completely under his control now, so he swept under her knees with his arm, sliding his other from her neck to her back to dump her into the bath. When the water cleared, she was still staring up at him, her mouth an O of surprise. What, did she expect him to keep her muddy and disgusting? He resented the thought, and found a stool to seat himself on next to her. Rose and honeysuckle perfumes already scented the bath. Her hair hung in wet strands about her face. He took a cloth from the tray and began to wipe the mess from her face. She shivered away from him, but he took her chin in his hand, and forced her eyes to meet his.

               “Why are you doing this?” she asked. “What are you going to do to me?”

               He wiped more dirt away, surprised to discover she was actually quite attractive. Her bone structure was strong and her nose prominent, but with less dirt her eyes became more of an asset. He pushed her hair back with the cloth and then paused to look at her face. Her gaze was glued to his. He examined her chin, her mouth, her eyes and ears and forehead. She was red with anger by the time he was finished.

               “Seen enough?” she demanded with fury in her voice.

               “Speak in that way again, and I will punish you myself,” he said, pleased with the indifference in his voice. His heart was racing with excitement. He was delighted that she disliked his scrutiny and responded with scorn. She froze, and he began to push recalcitrant tresses under the water. “Head back,” he instructed. She complied. Confusion was evident in her gaze. He kept his touch firm but gentle. She would know who her Master was, and that he could act with kindness. He pushed her gently forwards with his hand on her shoulder blade. Instantly she obeyed.

                “You’ve never been touched like this before,” he said to her hair. “This must be unusual for you.” Her eyes widened, and she looked like she might weep with frustration. He took a flask of shampoo from the table and began to soap her hair.

                “You… seem to know what you’re doing,” she said as she hunched forwards.

                “Yes,” he agreed. “I do.” He smoothed the potion into her hair, and began gentle circles. He let the mindlessness of the task overtake him. Her hair was a mass of foam, so he began to massage her scalp, ensuring the shampoo cleaned every centimetre of her. Her eyes were closed. He began to sluice water through the length of her hair, realising she was silently testing her muscles. He watched her wrists flex and relax. She drew a deep, racking breath, and then relaxed under his hands. He waited to see if she would continue the tiny movements, but she did nothing. He finished cleaning her hair, and then pushed her back to lie in the water.

                She opened her eyes as she moved backwards. He stared into the depths as her hair coiled around her, releasing soap and dirt. She didn’t see him, he was sure of it. He ran a finger along her face, from temple to chin, and she didn’t respond. He slipped a hand under her neck, and she winced but still her gaze stared through him. He found the cloth again and stroked her shoulders with it, clearing more of the grime. He put one hand on her chest, and let the weight of it rest on her. Would she understand the subtle threat? His focus was all on her, yet when her gaze flicked to him he started in surprise. Tiny waves splashed as testament to his surprise.

                 “I don’t want you,” she said. He gave a slight push, her body sinking into the water an inch. She did understand the subtle threat then, and was countering with a direct response. Water flooded her face, ran into the channels and niches of her mouth and nose. She rose in the water and coughed.

                 “I don’t believe I asked,” he said.

                 “Richard will come for me,” she said. Her bravery was so earnest. He wanted to smile.

                 “Yes indeed, he will. But not before morning,” he countered. He wiped away beads of water from her cheeks, slowing down the movement. She jerked away, so he buried his other hand deep into her wet hair and forced her to stay still. Her hands gripped at his wrists weakly, her strength still not fully returned. He bit his lip as he dropped the cloth, stroking her skin with his thumb. His thumb inched closer to her mouth, until he was running his callouses across the softness of her lip. He wondered at the taste of her; would she taste of salt and perfume? Or the grit he had so recently washed from her? He pressed his thumb into her mouth against her resistance. Tear-brilliant eyes stared at him as he lost himself in the feel of her, sliding his thumb along her teeth and lip.

                  “Sweetness,” he found himself murmuring. He sucked his thumb then, finding only the tang of his own salt. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Kahlan tried to twist away, causing soapy waves to crash onto his lap. Moment broken, he looked down to his dampening pants. 

                   “Is this a ploy, perhaps?” he asked with a quirk of one eyebrow. “To get my pants off me as fast as possible?”

                   “Bastard,” she sneered. He lost his patience, and dragged her to her feet by her hair. She half screamed, scrabbling to find purchase in the tub with her feet. He let her go then, letting her fall back into the water. A few strands of hair still remained in his grasp. He looked down at her, naked and cowering.

                    “Such manners do not become you,” he said. “Clean yourself,” he instructed. He stripped his wet leathers and slipped into a silk robe as the quiet dripping of water indicated her obedience.


	2. Best Laid Plans...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think you quite mistake my order for an offer,” he said, standing. She half crouched, ready for him to attack. She was not ready when he picked up salve from the dinner table, and threw it across the room to his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware this may be triggering.

Chapter Two

           He leaned on the window sill, waiting for her to finish. A slender arm was all he could see, and to be honest he was less worried about her physical form than he was about the look in her delicious eyes. He stalked to the lounge and settled again, steepling his fingers to peer over them at her. The bath was rapidly cooling, and she looked clean enough. Under his regard her hands slowed to a stop, and she waited.

          “Get out,” he instructed.  
           “I have no towel,” she said calmly. He nodded.  
           “You are quite correct, Kahlan. You don’t.” Her name was a caress in his mouth. He tasted the word, shaping and forming the vowels with slow sensuality. “Kahlan. Queen Kahlan. Lady Kahlan. Mother Confessor Kahlan,” he said. His eyebrow quirked again. “Pet Kahlan,” he suggested.  
           She said nothing but stood and carefully stepped out of the tub. She dripped onto his rug, and he watched the water run down her shoulders, along the line of her breast and form fat drops from her nipples. She was long and lithe, muscled and bruised from so many wars and skirmishes.  
           “You’re one of a kind, Kahlan,” he said, sitting back on the chair and leaning his arms along the back. Any normal woman would have knelt at his knee by now. She waited.  
            “Your wounds must hurt.” He gestured for her to come closer. She was covered with welts and abrasions. “Your Seeker can not be looking after you very well with such wounds,” he said. She stared at him like a suspicious kitten. “Come, and I will soothe your hurts.”  
           “No,” she said. “I don’t want to have my hurts soothed by you.” A kitten with claws.  
            “I think you quite mistake my order for an offer,” he said, standing. She crouched, ready for him to attack, and so was not ready when he picked up salve from the dinner table and threw it across the room to his bed.  
             “You’re not ready to fight me,” he said with a slight sneer. “You should have accepted my offer. You would want to be limber before we begin our tete-a-tete,” he said. He rang the pulley to alert his servants he needed them. The bath was removed quickly. The only evidence left was a slight dampness to his rug and Kahlan still dripping on his floor. The servants didn’t even dare to look at the nude woman as they ran to perform their duties. The door was shut behind them, and the empty space yawned between them.  
No one moved. He could see tiny muscle flexes as she prepped for whatever she thought might be most effective. Would she attack him? Would she try to run? The door? The open window? The uncertainty thrilled him to the core.  
           Kahlan bolted for the door, and in two easy strides he was there before the door was half open. He slammed his weight against it and twisted so his back was pressed to the wood as she struck with one fist for his jaw.  
           “Ah, love,” he said, catching her wrist and then dragging her across him and off balance. He threw her to the floor, laughing as she bounced to her feet again. “I have your pet name, Sweetness,” he said. “The sweetness of your scent, of your skin, of your thighs,” he said, allowing his gaze to drop low. She stepped in to roundhouse kick him, but he caught her leg and lifted it up until she fell backwards. Even exhausted and damaged as she must be, her speed was astounding.  
           “I know the deck is stacked my way,” he said as he stalked around her. “Two perhaps three days on the table. Unable to move. I find your insistence on rebellion quite delicious.” She scooted backwards until she came to the wall, and then pushed herself to her feet.  
His hands shot out, catching her wrists, and he found himself pressed against the length of her. She was shivering. He forced her arms behind her back and she moaned in pain.  
           “Sweetness,” he whispered into her ear. “Did you forget who is Rahl around here?” He licked her neck. “I want to be gentle with you, Kahlan. I’m one of the very few men that you can truly lose yourself with. Your powers have no effect on me. I can be anything you need,” he said, and then began to nibble along her jaw. Her shivering intensified and he realised she was making tiny noises. Weeping? Already? He drew back to look into her eyes, but she had turned her face away. He let go of her and she caught herself, turning to look at him. Anger blazed where he had expected tears.  
           “I can defeat any move you make,” he said. “I have won, Kahlan. The rest of this is just foreplay,” he said, and picked her up.  
           “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “You’re wrong. You haven’t won. Richard is still out there, and he will come and he will kill you,” she said. “I’ll fight you every step of the way, Rahl. I’ll fight you every day, I’ll fight you in every way.” Such brave words! He would have applauded if his arms weren’t full of resistant woman.  
           “Then I shall conquer you in every way. I’ll win every fight, every day,” he promised. “This is much more interesting than “’til death do us part,” no?” he asked. He dumped her onto the bed and allowed himself to fall, straddling her before she could skitter to the far side. Her hands darted against him, trying to find purchase; his wrist, his shoulder, his arm… he pinned her easily, drawing her wrists to the manacles on his bedhead.  
           “Are they a permanent fixture? Since you seem to have so much luck with women,” she spat. He slapped her with very little force, mostly to see what she would do. She was quite firmly captured now. He could leave her here for as long as he wished. His hand print flared on her cheek, and once again anger flared in her eyes.  
           He shifted back until he lay flush against her. Biting his lip, he surveyed every centimetre of her face. His cock was already rising from of the nearness of such a woman and the exertion of her struggles.  
           “Why are you so cruel?” she asked, staring into his eyes. “What does this do for you?”  
           “I take what I want, Sweetness.” His eyes drank in the slopes of her nose and arch of her eyebrows. “I want to keep a part of you with me always,” he said as softly as a lover’s kiss.  
           “What about what I want?” she hissed. He shrugged, and reached up to trace her mouth with a thumb.  
           “Not of consequence. You’re a pawn, like everyone else. A very useful pawn, I will agree, but pawn nonetheless.” She closed her eyes then. Perhaps she was finally listening. He took the moment to stroke her hair back from her face, long wet tangles that also resisted him in every way. He moved each strand careful not to hurt her. She was like a wet dog that needed training. He could train her from the rough diamond into the star of a tiara.  
           “Pawns can be loved,” he whispered and bent to press his mouth to hers. She tried to turn away but his hand was already buried into her hair. She tasted like the most delicate metheglin, honey and spices. He licked her bottom lip, and then deepened his kiss until she lunged forward, teeth bared and trying to bite.  
           He rolled to her side to allow his fist space to strike; but paused. His hand drifted down until he cupped her cheek in his palm, already warmed from his last blow. Holding her chin tightly he turned her face away and began nibbling on her neck.  
           “You don’t understand what potential I am to you,” he told her between tiny bites.  
           “You are a loathsome rapist. What could you offer me?” she spat.  
           “I am the only man, other than Giller, who cannot be Confessed. Who else can bring you true pleasure. Wouldn’t you like to know what it’s like, Sweetness? Just once, perhaps?” he said in soft, insinuating tones. “The mating between two consenting adults, perhaps?” he smiled as the words slipped from his mouth.  
           “I will never consent to you. Never.”  
           “Your Seeker can’t… or rather you won’t allow him. Surely you remember the sweetness of being held,” he said, running one hand along the length of her body as he pressed his hips into hers. “The gentle touch of a lover?” he suggested, cupping one hot breast in his hand. He curled over her to suckle.  
           “No!” she shouted. “No,” she repeated at a lesser volume. He didn’t stop, sure that her protests came from an insidious curl of pleasure in her belly. The lady doth protest too much. He nipped carefully with his teeth, and she made a strangled noise. Pain and pleasure? It could be either but it could also be both. There were many reasons why he was popular with the Mord’Sith. Her body rippled against his, and then she was trying to kick him.  
           “Let go of me!” she shouted over the jangle of her cuffs. “Leave me alone! I am not some plaything!” She was too close to get good purchase, so he let her spend her energy fruitlessly.  
           “You’re not just a toy to me, Kahlan, no matter what you may think. I take you very seriously indeed,” he said. Tears spilled from her closed eyes and he hoped she realised the futility of her struggles. “Surely to bring you pleasure is such a great challenge. Only a great man could arise to the occasion. A woman such as yourself – beautiful. Repressed. Starving of affection… needs a certain type of release.”  
           She drew a choked breath.  
           “Why do you think I am starved for affection? Richard loves me. Zedd loves me.”  
           “But are unable to allow you to be free of all shackles…” he smiled as she lifted her arms, making hers clank. They were incredibly heavy. He had prepared for her most carefully. The weight of them overnight would weaken her ability to fight him when he released her, and they were strong enough to withstand a warrior’s strength.  
            He returned his attention to her breast, right before his eyes. He took his time, making sure to only provide gentle laps and sucks, highlighted with the tiniest of nibbles. She gasped and quivered; but still she fought him.  
           “I don’t want you to touch me, Rahl. I don’t want what you have to offer,” she insisted.  
           “I am not going to hurt you, no matter how you beg and plead,” he said with a smile, looking up to her face. “Tomorrow morning I will set you on your feet out the front of the People’s Palace, and wave goodbye. You’ll return to your lover, but it’s me you’ll be thinking of.”  
           “My rapist,” she said. “My jailer and abuser.”  
          “Maybe time will mellow your stance,” he suggested and gave her a sprightly smile. She clanked her chains at him and he laughed. “You would make a fine mother of kings.” He was pleased with her arrogance and strength of will, and felt the shudder that ran through her whole body.  
          “A Confessor Queen even,” he considered. “But not tonight. We can’t have the mother of my children traipsing around the countryside while pregnant. We’ll wait for a quieter period in our lives, shall we?” She snorted, and he responded. “I am sure there’s something in your heart that thinks perhaps I would be excellent father material for your children – were I confessed.”  
          “Never. I would rather die than give you the satisfaction of thinking you could do me any favours. Some dogs need to be put down, not to stud,” she sneered.  
          He returned his tongue to her nipple. She might manage to hide her responses, but with patience and gentleness he was sure he could bring her great pleasure, perhaps even to orgasm. Now that would be a climax! Mother Confessor coming in his arms? Hot sweaty and delirious with delight? The mere thought hardened his cock, which he then pressed into the softness of her hip. Since she was so determined to hide her responses, he would take her gently as he wished, using his exquisite skills at human responses to guess her pleasure. His breath caught with excitement.  
           He nestled between her thighs. The curls of her pubis tickled his chin, and he smiled at the treasure before him. Her belly was slightly curved and he thrust his arms under her ass, hugging her hips against him. She was warm and sweet and it felt good to lie here. He placed his ear against her stomach, imagining listening to the heartbeat of a child.  
            What was it about this woman that caught his dreams? What drove him to use delicacy as a weapon? To imagine a Queen Confessor, or a Princess Rahl? His lips curved into a smile as he imagined the beautiful mix of his genes and Kahlan’s. The girl would have Kahlan’s grace and speed, and his command.  
            He placed a kiss on the belly that would bear his heir. One day Kahlan would grow to love him – or at least accept him as her master. He had the time to allow her follies. Perhaps a pregnancy would be an excellent idea after all. He imagined her following the Seeker, bearing a child of Rahl the entire time. He chuckled into her belly, rubbing his nose into her navel and holding her tightly.  
            “Sweetness,” he murmured. “I’m thinking completely of you,” he said.  
            “Weeping at your funeral?” she asked hopefully.  
            “Oh no,” he promised. “Tonight is all about my pleasure, not yours.” He slithered one arm back from under her, and ran the flat of his hand across her stomach and then her waist. How could he ease her nervous terror to bring her enough pleasure? He stroked her body as he considered his options. He had just the one night, and he had no doubts that Richard would find a way to be his step by morning, even if he ran all night. The portal had bought him the time, he just needed to use it. Kahlan was safely tucked into his bed, and unless she could magic the chains off her wrist, she was staying right where she was. He slid one leg between hers, the heat of her adding fire to his thoughts. He had considered forcing her pleasure upon her and then letting her free… but he wanted to stake his claim tonight.  
            When she walked free, she would always have a part of him in her thoughts. Every time she imagined lying with Richard, the more immediate reality of her time with him would colour her fantasies. He pulled the counterpane over them both and listened to the body beneath him thrumming with tension. She had to relax. He slipped out of the bed, and pulled the quilt up to her neck, tucking it into the curve of her jaw and then bent down. She flinched but all he did was kiss her undamaged temple.  
           “I shall find you a posset to help you sleep,” he said smoothly, hiding the joy in his heart. “You must be exhausted from your travels.” He put his hand over her eyes, until he felt the flicker of her lashes as she closed them.  
           “Get your stinking hands off me,” she muttered. Withdrawing his hand, her big blue eyes stared at him. He walked away. Denna would have the potion in her rooms.

          Half an hour later he knelt next to his bed. Kahlan was drowsy but still awake. Seeing him brought the fire to her eyes, and she took a deep breath to begin a barrage of abuse. He ignored every word, burying his left hand deep into her hair and twisting until she gasped, her mouth open. The vial was tiny and the fluid moved like water, the bitterness of it making her cry out in protest. He held her still as she struggled not to swallow, but his patience and the steel of his will won.  
           “What have you given me?” she whispered. “Such a bitter brew,” she said, frowning up at him. Yet her tongue still swiped at a droplet that shone in the corner of her mouth.  
           “I did tell you. It’s something to help you sleep. You’re in my care now, Kahlan. You can relax, and let yourself be looked after.” He straightened the counterpane again, and then pushed a ragged tendril of hair from her face. The tension was leaving her already; her skin smoothed and she looked three quarters asleep.  
            “I don’t want… don’t want…” she slurred. Her eyelids drooped, and her arms relaxed. Her exhaustion, coupled with the potion had taken its toll. He was surprised at how quickly, and how deeply she had conceded to the drug. He stripped and wriggled into bed, pressing his cold body against her. She was like stone. He could wait until she was awake enough to enjoy his attentions.

            When he opened his eyes, the dim light of new dawn drew shadows about him. Kahlan slept in his arms. He savoured the moment of unthinking trust. He had slept well, better than usual. Their warmth created a pocket of peace in the bed. Any movement would draw chilly drafts. He slid his hand along the belly beside him. She was relaxed and asleep. Now was the perfect time.  
He kept his hand flat on her skin as he explored in ever expanding circles. He kept tight control of his impulses, pressing his nose into her jaw and dotting tiny kisses along her shoulder bones. A hint of her voice showed she could feel his touch, and was responding. Kisses lead him down under the quilt, along the line of her curves and to her nipples. He tasted her gently, sure to only use tongue and mouth. She mumbled something as he suckled, and he imagined her breasts full with milk for his child. The intensity of the image made him pause, and he needed a moment to regain his control.  
           Her voice was sleep softened and unintelligible. His hand spanned her belly for a moment before his index finger slid through her curls, and down. The tip of his finger was enclosed in her heat. Lust flooded through him, and he wanted to lose himself in her now. Again he struggled with his control. He slipped further down the covers until he could inhale the scent of her, honey and spices as heady as whiskey. He curled over her and then slipped between her thighs. Wriggling backwards, he braced his weight with hands on both sides of her before he bent to press his tongue to where his finger had been.  
            She moaned but did not yet awaken. The drug still held her, though gently. She would waken very soon.  
            He would take his pleasure of her now, before her shame and arrogance would ruin the moment. He would look after her even if she despised him. Women so rarely knew what was good for them. She must accept his control.  
His tongue curled around her clitoris. Intoxicated, he closed his eyes to fully savour the flavours and depths of her. His arms rested against her thighs, pushing her open to his hunger. She mumbled something, and he registered it more as a sign of her growing consciousness. He lapped at her, using the length of his tongue to pleasure the depths of her cunt. She moaned now, and her hips twisted slightly under him. He thrust his left hands under her buttocks to hold her in place, and placed the tips of his index and forefinger against her opening. Gentle, loving movements and her hips rolled against him.  
Her voice was a distraction. She moaned and mumbled as he tested her most intimate secrets. Her skin warmed under his touch, her thighs parting of their own accord. She was so close to awake, and so close to orgasm… He slid his fingers deep into her as he pressed his tongue against her clit. She gasped, suddenly loud and clear in the room. He tickled her clit with his tongue, and felt the beat of her cervix hammering against his fingertips. She was orgasming already!  
           “Richard!” she cried. “Oh dear Sweet Mother, Richard!”  
           In shocked silence, they both froze. He listened to her gasps, and slowly eased his fingers from her. She made a tiny noise as he did so, and he kissed her belly, her thighs, her ribcage, her breast and finally her neck.  
           “Thank you, Kahlan,” he said into her hair. He suckled her ear, aware she was still in shock. “Thank you for the gift of your orgasm.” His thighs still held hers open, and it was easy to slide his hips down, between her lips even as his mouth descended on hers.  
           “Oh, please,” she whispered when he let her speak again. “Don’t, please, Darken,” she repeated, her huge eyes staring into his.  
            “It’s too late, Kahlan,” he whispered. Her body eased around his cock, and he found a sweet release no Mord’Sith had ever given him. He reached down to hook his right arm under her left knee. She gasped again, her eyes like crystals in her tears as her body was pulled into new positions.  
           “I’ve never… I don’t…” she gasped, but the drug still held her in its thrall, and before she could complete her sentence her cervix was moving again, her muscles rippling around him as orgasm bucked her hips again and again. He gave himself leave to come within her, children be dammed. How could any male resist the lure of a woman coming around his cock? She turned her face away and he closed his eyes. His heart thundered in exertion and something more. Burying his face into her hair, he ignored the slight tinges of moisture on his own cheeks. He rubbed the evidence away, suddenly away of the physicality of their bodies, the way his belly pressed into hers and her cheek against him.  
           He reached up and unlocked the shackles. Her arms fell free, and she began to weep in long, broken sobs. She twisted slightly and their connection was broken. A moment of sorrow speared his heart, but he consoled himself with the thought of Richard’s face when he returned Kahlan to them in just a few hours. Something in him mourned regardless.  
           “You disgusting bastard,” she managed through her tears. “How could you do that to me? How could you do that to any one?” Her words were choked through her sobs. He sat up and took her hand, and began to massage along her forearm.  
           “I expect you’re going to be quite sore, Sweetness,” he said in a low voice. She tried to tug her arms free, but her struggles were ineffectual. “Surely you know by now, Sweetness, to listen to me,” he purred.  
           “Never,” she hissed. “Never. There is no way I’ll lie with you willingly, Rahl. Never,” she said, and clumsily her hand rose to wipe the tears from her face. “You should kill me while you have the chance. When I come back I’ll be coming just for you,” she said, her blue eyes blazing. Darken turned away, not wanting to see the fanaticism in her eyes.  
            “Ah, Sweetness,” he said. “How little you know. I’ve made my mark on you. You’re mine now. There’s nothing you can do to displace the fact that when Richard kisses you, it will be my face in your thoughts. When you lie beneath your next Confessed stud, I will be the one you think of.”  
           He stood up, and pulled the sheet from the bed around him.  
           “I think I’ve already won, Kahlan.” He left her to get dressed.

          Richard has his sword ready, his face set with determination as Darken stepped out to the courtyard of the Palace. Richard ran at Darken wildly, loosely, like a green stripling.  
           “Ah, my dear Seeker,” he said as he stepped to one side of the blow. Confused, as the stupid boy often was, Richard stumbled to a halt, his sword hanging impotently in his hand.  
           “Where is Kahlan? What have you done to her?” Richard demanded, flush in the hot headedness of youth. He waved the sword at Darken, who carefully pushed it away with one gloved hand.  
           “To? Many things. With? Perhaps the same things again,” Darken said, turning back to see Kahlan hovering in the shadows of the doors. She lifted her chin under his gaze, magnificent in the red and black gown he had left her, and he said nothing. He looked back at Richard, wondering what she might do. He listened for the swish of her skirts, hearing the two steps she took.  
           “Richard,” she called out. To Darken’s ear her call sounded… less like a woman welcoming her saviour and more like someone welcoming back a friend she had known once. The force was gone from her voice. The steel was missing. He swung around to look at her, noting the exhaustion in her face.  
           "Are you okay?” Richard demanded, rushing to her side. She met Darken’s gaze as she grasped Richard’s sword arm by the wrist.  
           “I am fine,” she said, and looked away. The steel was definitely gone, he realised. Only the tender parts of her were left. The softness, the weakness and vulnerability. He had the urge to slice Richard in half. There was no way the buffoon could understand the treasure that held his sword at bay.  
           “We need to go,” she whispered and leaned into Richard. Darken let his eyes do his speaking, knowing he burned with possession and lust. The monkey would ride from Darken’s palace with the woman he claimed, and he was about to let it happen. He opened his mouth, and as he did so Kahlan looked at him, pushing the wild mane of her hair away as she did so. She looked so … damaged. He shut his mouth. He could wait. She was stronger than she thought, and he would be the one to show her the strength that lay within. He raised his hand in goodbye.  
           Next time would not be far away. He was sure of it.

 

 


	3. Promises Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Damn him,” she whispered, wishing her anger could burn him. In her mind’s eye she remembered the goodnight kiss, the kiss of an owner to his pet. Of a person to his possession. Her cheeks burned with shame. How dare he be in her thoughts? Richard had come for her, just like she said. He had come and she had run away. Her thoughts ran to Richard like a rushing river. Images of him, laughing and flirting and being happy, were now tinged with sorrow. The look on his face when he had taken her from the palace… and when she had stopped him from running Rahl through. Why had she stopped him? What was wrong with her? The pillow absorbed her tears but not her emotions. Sleep was going to be a long time coming.

Chapter Three

 

“Did he hurt you?” Richard demanded. His desperation dragged her down the street despite her attempts to free her crushed hand. Richards’s needs exhausted her, and she was too tired, too sore, too weary to deal him right now. Deep in her chest her magic was a stubborn ember that refused to die back into somnolence. Beside them someone sold vegetables and hot apple turnovers; the scents turned her stomach.

“Richard, please,” she whispered. Unlike Rahl, it was enough and Richard let go of her hand, concern showing instantly on his face. Someone brushed too close as they walked past and she twitched, her eyes following their movements. Her breathing came in short gasps.

“I’m sorry, Kahlan, I’m just so worried…” he said, stopping to turn and look into her face. She kept her gaze low, wanting to avoid his eyes. Shouting drilled into her skull, driving a headache right between her eyes. Too many people! Too much noise!

“I know,” she mumbled. “I’m just so tired.” Walking seemed like too much effort against the flow of the crowd, and she stumbled into him. Fire flickered hungrily in her chest and she gasped at the shock of it and his touch. Her magic had leapt at his touch – or at her terror?

“Kahlan?” His arms held her up and she darted a glance at his face. His mouth was twisted with worry, his eyes blazing with fear. Her eyes followed the curve of his mouth, and she wanted to touch his mouth to reassure him but she pushed her hair back yet again, and pulled herself away. Fear beat through her heart.

“We need to keep going. Where is Zedd? The horses?” she asked as the street opened out into a plaza.

“I left them behind,” he said as he bounced to catch up with her. “Zedd teleported me as close as he could, but I still had to run…” She looked at him, seeing the exhaustion in the creases and laugh lines that fanned from his eyes.

“Oh,” she said, since he seemed to want a response. Twisting her hair into a knot, she wished she could just cut it off. Her needs made demands she couldn’t meet - she wanted to change, bathe, burn her clothing… instead she kept walking. Worry ate at her mind and insisted she think about Richard’s touch. Terrified, she wrapped her arms tight around her body. She needed to escape.

“I need to sleep, Richard. Can you find us somewhere safe? Please?” she asked, hating that she still had to speak, to use words. Couldn’t he tell she needed time?

“I’ll look after you,” he promised and she winced and shuddered. Ripples of dread coursed through her body. Don’t, she wanted to say. Don’t look after me… but he was already searching for an inn. From one man’s hands to another. She buried her face into her hands in shame and pain. Richard’s love was not the balm she needed right now. All she wanted was for him to not be here! How could she even speak of what Rahl had done to her? A sob escaped before she could crush it. She had to pull herself together, and get a hold of her magic. Before she lost control of it. She nudged the ember again, wondering desperately why she could still feel it coursing through her. Resolutely she ignored the most probable reason.

She would never let _him_ win. Never. Again, someone brushed too close. A yelp and she leapt sideways, heart in her mouth and eyes wide. They were already gone, but at least now she was no longer in the middle of the street. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of a hand. She had to find solace. Now.

“Kahlan?” She heard Richard, but she pushed on through the crowd. Away from him and his need for reassurance. Away from all of them.

 

Even in the darkness of an inn room, she couldn’t sleep. The strange shapes and shadows as the day passed were her only company. Her magic waxed and waned but refused to go dormant. Outside the men and women sold spicy pastries and dress cloth, their voices slowing and stopping during the afternoon, to be replaced with new sellers in the evening. Banging and neighs from the stable below her window indicated high traffic. She heard footsteps often, people moving to and from their rooms, perhaps servants bringing food, water, messages. She stared at the shadows until her eyes hurt, the headache enough to make her wish she was dead.

She should bathe. She should find new clothing. She should… she let the thoughts slip away. Should never have been caught. Should never have accepted such a risk. Should never have allowed herself to fall in love with Richard. Should never have been so stupid. Kahlan rubbed at her wrists, the bruises and sores from the shackles a dull pain. Sleep would bring healing. She curled into a ball in the bed, holding her knees tightly against her. Instead of sleep, she found moisture in her eyes, and when she rubbed it away there was more.

“Damn him,” she whispered, wishing her anger could burn him. In her mind’s eye she remembered the goodnight kiss, the kiss of an owner to his pet. Of a person to his possession. Her cheeks burned with shame. How dare he be in her thoughts? Richard had come for her, just like she said. He had come and she had run away. Her thoughts ran to Richard like a rushing river. Images of him, laughing and flirting and being happy, were now tinged with sorrow. The look on his face when he had taken her from the palace… and when she had stopped him from running Rahl through. Why had she stopped him? What was wrong with her? The pillow absorbed her tears but not her emotions. Sleep was going to be a long time coming.

 

This red and black lace dress of Darken’s was too much a mark of ownership. It had to go. New clothes were needed, and so she required money. Her belly growled with hunger. Instead of getting food, she watched the shadows as the sun rose. Now would be a good time to find some D’Haran guard and Confess him. She could do this. But what would happen if her powers did not work? Or worse, the ember seemed too willing to burn. At the mere thought of Confessing a D’Haran, her magic had sparked in her chest. What if she lost all control of the magic? If he fought her at all, she was too stiff and bruised to handle any sort of combat. Her heart mourned for Richard’s company but the solid layer of ice around it killed the wish to see him. Washing the stench of _him_ from her body before she coped with any other person’s needs was mandatory.

Practicalities first; unfortunately, money was the biggest issue. She was still dressed so she got up, moving slowly and carefully to determine her weaknesses, and also limber up. Confident she could walk without hobbling, she headed downstairs.

“You haven’t paid yet, ma’am,” a maid said as she passed into the inner courtyard.

“I know,” Kahlan said, giving the girl a smile. “I will return soon with the payment. I will also need some warm water when I return,” she said. The only reason she had been allowed in last night was the cut of her dress marked her as a noblewoman. Rather than turn her away, the kind hearted cook had let her into the inn. She kept walking, the sun beginning to light the streets as she stood in the centre of the courtyard door that led into the street.

“Zucchini, My Lady, fresh picked this morning,” said a woman, waving some oblong vegetable in her direction.

“She doesn’t want that,” said a too familiar voice. Richard pushed himself away from the wall from between the vegetable seller and the pie maker.

“Richard,” she said, able to look clearly into his face finally. Anger narrowed those beautiful eyes of his, and she felt her heart freeze.

“You disappeared on me, Kahlan! I was finding you somewhere safe!” he said. Her throat was suddenly dry. Would he keep shouting at her? Involuntarily she took a small step backwards.

Instantly he was solicitous again, rushing forward to try and grasp her hand. She gasped, ready to bolt back into the inn, staring at their joined hands like they were snakes. Her magic roared, ready to defeat whatever threat he might be. Controlling the urge was a struggle, and she needed too much concentration.  

“Kahlan, what’s happened?” Richard asked. He rubbed her captured hand between his to try and give her his warmth. “You ran away from me?” he said, his eyebrows rising in confusion. Her hands looked pale and bloodless between the warm gold of his skin. Slowly her blood began to return to her hands and her magic remained reined in. Ice still encased her even as her magic hungered for his soul.

He waited so long, she had to say something.

“Do you have money to pay the inn?” she said the first thing that came to her. Richard bit his lip, obviously wanting to pursue questioning her, but he nodded.

“Zedd gave me everything we have. Did you sleep in that dress?” he asked, and frowned. She gave a stiff nod.

“Let me pay the room, and get you a bath. I’ll go and find you some clothing while you wash,” he said. Shudders rocked her. Opening her eyes, she realised he was staring at her. A bath… she had to wash. But did it have to be a bath? Heat coloured her cheeks, but she couldn’t string the words together to speak them.

“Sell this dress,” Kahlan suggested. “Buy me something white.” The dress would be worth more than Richard would have. A crofter or servants’ dress would make her invisible. It would suit her right now.

“Come on, then,” Richard said, extending a hand to her. She avoided his touch, but let herself be guided back into the inn.

“Mistress,” a new servant girl stood by the door. Richard snapped out some orders, and then followed her back to her room. He threw open the shutters as she sank onto the freshly made bed. She flinched from the light, covering her eyes with one hand as Richard stared out the window.

“I can see the Palace from here,” he said quietly. She let herself fall back onto the bed. “I can get in there and kill him before anyone else knows I am here,” he said. When he turned to look at her, his eyes were hard as diamonds.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t,” he said. “Tell me why he still lives. Why did you stop me, Kahlan?” She shook her head, closing her eyes against his questions, against his demands. Why did he pummel her with questions all the time? Answers took too much energy, too much fear to address. Unable to look at him, she rolled away to face the wall.

“The bath should be here soon,” he said in frustration. Two steps towards her and she held her breath. Would he touch her? Then several steps away. Wood scraped on wood – the chair, she guessed. Creaks from distressed wood told her he was sitting down, that and the rustle of leathers. Time slowed, and her heartbeat slowed to meet it. He would be watching her, she knew, worry and fear on his face. Wanting to help her, or save her. All she wanted was for the servants to hurry up with the water.

Pain began to chime into her awareness. Her wrists throbbed to the beat of her heart, her belly a dull ball of pain. Muscles along her underarms protested the treatment of the last few days. Training would stretch the aches and pains away, work the kinks out of the muscles that could be worked on. Instead she catalogued each pain, each grievance, each bruise. The weight of her hand on her temple reminded her of yet more damage and she wanted to weep. Damn him! So much for his poisoned lies. No one could promise to care for someone even as they wreaked such damage on them.

Richard shifted his weight in the chair. Opening her eyes, she rolled and dared to face him only to find he was fully focused on the window, staring at the Palace which rose above the skyline. His face was unusually grim. Hatred for Darken Rahl rose in her heart, that there should be so much unspoken between Richard and her.

“Richard?” she whispered. Instantly he was kneeling by her bed, the full intensity of his gaze fixed to her face. Raising her arm in instinctive defense, she recoiled, feeling yet again the flare of uncontrolled magic in her body.

“Kahlan?” he gasped, half apology and half shock. His mouth hung open. Once sure she was in control, she reached out and lifted his chin until his mouth was shut. Adrenaline drummed through her veins. His skin felt like sandpaper, rough against her fingertips. She snatched her hand back as though burned.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a tiny voice, trying so hard not to weep.

“Don’t be sorry, Kahlan. I don’t know what he did to you, but none of this is your fault,” he swore. His big brown eyes stayed fixed on hers. She whimpered, scared of the need she saw in him. How could she answer that need now?

“Don’t,” she pleaded. He swallowed, and then hung his head.

“Whatever you need from me, Kahlan.” He looked up, and quirked a small smile at her. “Command me, Confessor,” he said. She recoiled again.

“No, Richard, you should never make fun of the Confessed! It’s not fodder for jokes,” she insisted, sensitive as her magic drained somewhat, but just not quite enough. Richard’s face fell, and her heart twisted, but she still could not comfort him or explain.

“I’m hurting,” she said, trying to explain. Wild thoughts of fleeing and pain and fear coupled with her unstable magic terrified her. Her emotions changed from second to second in ways she couldn’t predict. How could she explain this in such a way to keep his love?

“I can see, love." He reached out, slowly, to stroke the bruise on her temple with the lightest of touches. She flinched away.

“That was Giller’s man,” she said. “These,” she said, and drew back the sleeves of the dress on her free arm. Raw evidence of her shackling stood stark against her skin. Richard choked. Instantly she dropped the sleeve to cover the wounds.

“Let me kill him,” he gritted. “Let me put this sword through his heart and bring you back his head. I’ll slice him limb from limb and send them to the four corners of the world so no Mord’Sith can bring him back. I’ll split him into…” he was frightening her again. Her breathing quickened and she scooted away from him on the bed until he fell silent mid-sentence. The silence grew.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I just need some time.” Richard nodded slowly, his eyes still firm on hers. Could he tell she might be lying? Was that important?

Knocks on the door broke her reverie. Servants brought in a bath and set it up, placing a huge fluffy towel on the bed and scenting the hot water with lavender and rose. Kahlan closed her eyes, turning away from the bustle and retreating back into her reserve. Finally the door shut and when she opened her eyes Richard was standing at the window again.

“I’ll stand outside if you want,” he said tonelessly. “Sell that dress, and get some food. We may as well stay here for a few days while you heal.” She sat up, and then stepped from the bed.

“Yes,” she agreed. She looked at the bath, her head full of feelings and images. She shivered, remembering the kiss of an icy wind as he played games with her, even as her magic had burned all the way out to her skin. Goosebumps grew as she remembered struggling while cold and wet and hurting and _impotent_. Iron fists holding her against the wall and his breath against her skin; his grip on her hair as he dragged her from the water.

“Kahlan?” someone asked softly. “Kahlan?”

Her gaze rose to meet Richard’s face as his voice dragged her from her memories.

“Richard?” she said. She pressed a hand to her unbruised temple. “I – I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just… thinking, about… something,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask questions thought he tumultuous beating of her heart.

“Do you want me to stay here?” he asked. He was trying so hard to be gentle, but everything he did or said was like a hammer on her frazzled nerves.

 “No, outside the door should be fine,” Kahlan said, ignoring a sudden fear that he might ignore her request. “I will hand you the dress.” What bruising, what evidence might lie under the rich material? Richard took so long to leave she wondered if he was going to insist on staying, but finally he moved.

“If you need me, just say my name,” he said as he opened the door. “I want you to feel safe, Kahlan.” Unable to look into his earnest face, she sank back onto the bed in relief when the door shut. He was gone. Air was suddenly deliciously available, and she could breathe again. Alone was safe, but how could she explain that? Richard was obviously going out of his mind with worry. A mirror waited expectantly, and she turned it away before looking at the extras that had come with the bath. A washcloth and soaps stood on a little tray. Some new clothes and a bucket would have been preferable, but a bath would wash away the last signs and help her bruises and aches.  Slipping the dress from her shoulders, she dumped it on the bed and kept her shift for the bath. Opening the door a crack she fed the dress through to Richard. His eyes met hers. She had to think – what would make him feel better? Make him believe that she would be fine?

“Remember, only get the star fruit,” she said, and gave him a smile. “I don’t like apples at all.” Would he give her an answering smile? Would he accept this as an olive branch, extended to bridge the rift between them?

A grin and her heart spiraled in hope and horror. If she could pretend hard enough, then surely it was true? She shut the door, and returned to the problem of bathing. Her thighs felt chapped and sticky, and she had to wash. _Had to_. But she circled the bath, her breath tight and head full of haze. Steam curled over the water, and she knew it would ease her muscle pains, could possibly relax her, and help with her healing. She closed the shutters again, and leaned against the wall until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The bath still called and repelled her. One step after the other, she came to the side and thrust her hand into the water.

Heat burned her, and she jerked her hand free, holding it with her right hand. The skin felt overheated, and her right hand felt so very cold. She raised both hands to her cheeks, realising she was in fact intensely cold. She took a deep breath, and then stepped into the bath. Somehow the shift clung to her in intimate ways, and yet afforded a measure of protection. Her calves were instantly thankful for the warmth, and she awkwardly splashed down onto her knees. Hot water rushed to raw skin, and she cried out in pain.

“Kahlan!” Richard shouted, and the door opened a crack.

“No! Don’t come in!” she insisted, realizing in the sudden silence he was still outside. Wrists crossed over her chest she waited, every heartbeat marked by fear.

“Please let me help,” he begged through the door. “Please,” he said. He made a muffled noise through the wood – was it a sob? A moan of anguish? Or frustration?

“I’m fine,” she insisted though her words were more breathless than she would have liked. He stayed outside, and eventually she heard the door click shut. Hot water was a soothing balm and she was ready to slip deeper in. Eyes wide, she settled into the water on her back. There’s no one in here, she told herself again and again. No one to pull her from the water or hurt her. Only Richard, who wanted to love and respect her. Fat tears started to fill her eyes. When would this get easier? Washed of tears, she soaked her hair until the warmth was gone and chill drove her out. Shivers made drying difficult as she wrapped herself, shift and all in the towel. Her magic burned still, but in the low embers she was starting to feel comfortable with.

“I’m out, Richard,” she called out. “You can come in again.” Muscles hummed, eased but not healed. Peace flowed into her and she was pleased to see her wounds were softened and healing. The huge towel comforted her, so large it made her feel childlike.

“Should I go and get rid of this now?” he asked, opening the door and still holding the dress. Giving him the first true smile in days felt simply amazing.  

“Yes please,” she said with a nod. “Buy some hot food with it. Something delicious.” Her stomach growled at the mere mention of food.

“No one’s fed you in days?” he asked, with a pull to his mouth. Shrugging, she looked away and down. Mentally she cringed from the games _he_ would have played with her to allow her to eat.

“If you bolt the door, you can sleep while I’m gone,” he suggested.

“Perhaps food will make me feel better, and then I can sleep,” she said. The idea of Richard sitting in the chair by the window was strangely comforting. Perhaps if he resumed his vigil, she could sleep? As long as he stayed over there, she liked the idea. She gave him another of her happy smiles, eager for him to come back.

“I’ll wait until you’re back before I sleep, I think.” Would he see this as her taking comfort from him? Would this also appease his desperate need to help her? His face lit like the sun, and he fairly bounced out the door.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he said and shut the door behind him. Untangling her hair in the sunbeams brought her attention to parts of her scalp that had taken some damage too. Was there any part of her that wasn’t hurting? Tucking her knees under her chin, she hugged her legs as she let the breeze dry her hair. Was this how other women felt after being abused? Shame rose in her belly again, and she wished Richard Goddess speed to come home to her.

He couldn’t find the star fruit. She laughed at the look of concern he gave her as he told her, delighted to see him again. The intervening hours had felt like aeons.

“I’m so full,” she said happily, patting her mounded stomach. “And so tired! I can’t wait to see Zedd again.”  

“Yeah, I wonder how he held up with that Giller magician,” Richard said. “I was pretty sure he could handle it all on his own, otherwise we’d need to be rescuing him again.”

Kahlan lay flat on her back on the bed, her stomach finally appeased and thoughts shooting through her.

“We live a hard life, Richard,” she said.

“I know,” he said, moving his chair to sit next to her. He looked down and she felt warmed by the love in his gaze.

“It is worth it though,” she said. “Isn’t it?” Silence answered her question.

“It will be,” he said. “And if nothing else, then I have you.”

“Yes,” she said, unable to look away from his amber eyes. “We always have each other.” She sat up and yawned. “Will you wait for me to have an afternoon nap, Richard? And then I should be fine to go and rescue our long haired friend,” she said with a smile.

“I could…” he gestured to the bed, and she shook her head.

“I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t know what effect the tortures will have on me, and the last thing I want is to confess you in my sleep,” she said, feeling as though her face were made of wood. It wasn’t a lie exactly, though it wasn’t really a truth either. But it was easier than saying his presence in her bed would leave her unable to sleep, or trying to explain the weird abundance of magic in her right now.

“I will stay here, Kahlan,” he said with an open smile. “I’ll do anything you need.”

Implicit in his words were that her needs might be more than usual. She slipped into the bed, wishing she could at least hold his hand as she slept, however she thought her subconscious might have a point. She was scared and exhausted. Anything could happen.

She opened her eyes for one last look at Richard. He smiled down at her, and then reached under the covers to give her hand a squeeze.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he promised.

“Good, because I am going to hold you to that,” she said as she pulled her fingers from his hand, and let herself go to sleep.


	4. The Hunted Hunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard and Kahlan struggle to cope with the changes brought about by Darken Rahl's abuse.

They walked out of the city gates, Richard turning for one last look while she walked past him, determined to be elsewhere as fast as possible. She almost knocked over a vegetable seller as she stomped out, her usual compassion absent from her face.

Behind her, Richard helped bring the old woman's cart upright, and then ran to catch up against the stream of traffic.

"Kahlan?" he asked, finally pulling up next to her. "Can we slow down a little?" She gave him a wild look. She still needed more sleep; exhaustion hummed through her but her magic seemed stronger than yesterday’s embers. When would it die away, ready to be called, rather than stay hungry and demanding? She would weep but she had spent too many tears already, and more would just upset Richard.

"I don't want to, Richard. I want to be gone from this place. Now, yesterday, last week. This place..." She gave the gates a haunted look. "Chases me in my dreams," she said and shuddered. He reached to her, and then stopped. Someone bumped into him, and then he gave her his usual easy going grin.

"Maybe we should chat out of the way," he suggested, and led her off the road. They looked down the road at the unending stream of humanity. She shivered, wondering why would anyone want to rush into Darken's shadow? She wished she had a shawl or something to take away the chill.

"Is Zedd still back wherever that castle was?" Kahlan asked as they peered down the road.

"This way," Richard said. She came back to herself to see him staring up, using his hands to guide his vision. "I stashed your stuff with mine," he said.

"You ran with both my bags and yours?" she asked in disbelief. How sweet and lovely of him! A sneaky thought slid through her heart. She didn't deserve such a courtesy. She didn't deserve anything after what she had done.

Her cheeks flushed and she pretended to be watching the sky, looking for whatever marks guided Richard.

"Zedd also said that if he could, he would magic himself as close as he could. He doubted he would be able to run anywhere, though," Richard said. He parted pine trees and bushes until they came to a small clearing, and then bent to one knee.

"Richard Cypher, on your knees yet again," Darken's smooth voice filled the clearing. Kahlan gasped and reached for her daggers... to remember them missing.

"Darken Rahl," Richard was already sliding the Sword of Truth from his scabbard.  Richard looked about the clearing while Kahlan searched the trees. Neither of them could see him. Magic flared within, from embers to white flame instantly, reaching from her chest to her skin. A single touch would Confess him… if he could have been confessed.

"You two lambs really are lost without Zedd," Darken said, and appeared before them. He was standing almost between them, his hands hidden within the long sleeves of his red robe. Richard lifted his sword and Kahlan slipped into her defensive pose, bouncing on the balls of her feet and her hands ready to grapple, punch or throttle. Her eyes checked the ground between them, and then she waited.

"Don't you want to know why I have come?" he asked, purporting to be hurt by their lack of care. She wanted to smack the smug smirk off his face and then grind him under her heel. She wanted to plunge her daggers into him again and again until her Confessors whites were stained with his heart's blood. She wanted him to burn.

"No," she said through gritted teeth. "We want you to leave us alone," she said. Something in her noticed his wince as she used the word 'we.' "We would prefer it if you were dead," she said, lifting her chin and driving her point home.

"I brought you a gift," he said, and shifted so his sleeves fell from his hands to display her daggers. Desire drew a gasp from her mouth. Her hands ached to feel their heft in her palms; her heart yearned for their solidity in his body.

"Do I even get a thank you?" he asked, and for a split second she considered swiping them from his hands, turning and slicing down, one to his throat and the other to his chest, gaping wounds and spewing blood...

"Thank you," Richard said, and lowered his sword. She gaped at him. The fool!

"No, thank you," Rahl said, and Kahlan leaped forward as Darken lifted one of her daggers. She halted between them, her hand on Darken's wrist and her back against Richard. Darken's eyes widened as he stared into hers and her magic flared, hammering at his skin, seeking entrance and being repelled.

"Kahlan," he whispered, and her cheeks flamed to see the vulnerability in his eyes. What madness was this? He was her rapist. Had he honestly believed any of the horse shit he had spewed the other night? Did he really think he had some claim on her?

She kneed him right where she had always wanted to, and then kicked him in the belly as he fell. He landed on his knees and one hand around her boot, one dagger skittering into the undergrowth and the other landing at her feet.

She bounced down for the blade, ready to deliver the killing blow only to find Richard already held the hilt.

"Richard?" she said in shock. She tugged at the dagger in his hands.

"No, Kahlan, I can't let you kill him," he insisted, taking a step away.

"Oh yes you can," she said, "It's easy. Just give me my dagger."

"No, Kahlan, I have to kill him at the right time and right place," Richard said.

"Too late," Kahlan screamed as Darken disappeared from the grass. "Too damn late! Why didn't you let me kill him?" she turned to face Richard, ready to argue. Her heart roared in fury and she wanted to strike out at something. “You… protected him… from me?” she couldn’t quite force the words from her mouth. “How could you do that?”

“I don’t want his blood on your hands,” he said, and handed her the dagger. She hefted it in one hand, pleased to have it back but rage still demanded release.

“What about what I want, Richard? Did you think about that? What about what I want?” she stalked off to find where the dagger’s twin had gone.

“I didn’t…” he said, his words stumbling to a halt. “I didn’t realise it would mean this much to you.” She kept her back to him, hearing the confusion in his voice. Her anger drained from her belly, leaving her nauseous and confused. Magic roiled around her body, denied release. Trying to remember chants from her childhood to contain the power, she kept looking for the second dagger. A glint of sunlight gave the position, and she took the moment to tidy them away, and get her face under control.

“Let’s go find Zedd,” she said, pushing back past him to get to her bags.

Several hours later Zedd found them first.

"What is all the quibbling about?" he demanded as he walked along the goat path. "I could hear you for hours before I found you!" He grinned, spreading his arms for a hug. Kahlan swallowed, unable to look into his face though she did smile at his attempt at a joke. They had been silent since they had seen Darken, Kahlan running his moves, his moods, his words over and over in her head. She was sure he was there just to see her, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach lead her to believe he might want more than just casual torture.

Zedd's arms slowly dropped to his sides, taking his smile with them.

"Richard? Kahlan? Were things... difficult at the palace?" he asked, his eyes on Kahlan with concern.

"He tortured her, and she wouldn't let me kill him," Richard's terse reply told her everything about his silence. He had been brooding, and sullen, rather than respectfully silent. She looked to see his chin jutting out, like a small child demanding belief from a parent.

"Kahlan?" Zedd asked. His words were soaked with compassion. She shrugged. Technically, Richard was correct, and as far as summaries went, he had covered the important points.

"You had the chance to kill him but didn't?" Zedd asked Richard. They had paused in the middle of the track, so Kahlan started walking back the way Zedd had come. Between her terrifying thoughts of Darken - his hands, on her daggers, on her wrists, in her fists... she had to see Giller. The slimy scientist would know what this potion was and what it was doing to her magic, and would tell her everything she needed to know. She heard them following her.

"Did you sort everything out?" Richard asked in a low voice.

"Yes, I did," Zedd said, obviously pleased. "I managed to find another vial of that potion. I gave it to Chase of course, so his wife didn't keep Confessing him by accident. So glad we routed out that nest of vipers!"

There had been more of that potion? She felt sick to her stomach to even think of it. Had Darken known there was more? Had Giller the ability to make more without his own torture factory?

"Did Giller survive?" Richard asked.

"Yes, I left him with the Monks of Romain. I figure they could contain a rogue sorcerer for me until I had further need of him."

Kahlan stopped and swung around.

"I need to see Giller. I need to find out all he knows about this potion he made," she said, staring at Zedd.

"Of course, Kahlan, I thought you might want to. His ability is a direct threat to your Order," Zedd said, looking surprised. "This is why I kept him alive!" He tried to smile at her, and she tried to smile back. Giving up, she turned back to her walk.

"Perhaps a short rest might be in order?" Zedd called plaintively. "I am an old man, after all, who rushed all the way here in order to help..." His voice trailed away. Kahlan sucked her breath through her teeth.

"Fine," she said. She stopped, folding her arms tightly over her chest and waited for them to catch up.

"Maybe we should make camp," Richard said, looking up through the trees. Kahlan gave a short nod, and he set off to find them a suitable place. Zedd took a seat on the high side of the track, and Kahlan wished against reason that he had gone with Richard, or something, to leave her alone. She didn't have to stay, though, she realised.

She let her pack fall to the ground next to him. "I'm going hunting."

"Kahlan -” Zedd started to say. She didn't want to hear it, heading into the forest.

 

Silence was once again the sweetest sound. With no one around she could relax all her defences. Her magic flared and damped as it wished to, instead of under her continual chanting and inner control. She crept through bushes, hoping to spot a fat sleepy doe or something sweet and succulent. Instead she found only rabbits. Her daggers made rabbit hunting almost too easy. She had three on her hip already. She should leave, go back to Zedd and Richard, and let them cook her meal. She slipped down, around a tree, all pretence of secrecy gone, and it was that moment that she saw the doe.

Startled, the big ears were pricked in her direction, and the wide chocolate eyes stared into hers. Seconds passed.

The doe bolted. Unthinking excitement burst through Kahlan. She gave chase

Her blood boiled as she ran, her pants coming in a rough rhythm to the crashing leaps and jumps. She jumped over a log, watching the doe leap gracefully over another and then charging after her. The race was intoxicating, immediate, and she found herself ululating as she hunted. Sanity returned a bare few minutes into the race, and she gave herself over to the pleasure of running. The doe bounced over something imaginary, and Kahlan was amazed to discover she was still close to the animal.

When the doe startled left, Kahlan had bounced right, and she found herself with an armful of startled deer. Magic flared along her skin and sank into the poor beast. Her daggers were still in her hand, and she cried out as her left hand sliced the deer's ribcage open.

"No!" she shrieked as they fell to the ground. Freed, the deer sprinted away, leaving bloody footprints.

"No, come back!" Kahlan cried and struggled to her feet. The doe was completely out of view. Kahlan would never be able to find her and heal her, or put her out of her misery if necessary. Tucking her daggers away, she wiped at her eyes, realising her cheeks were wet. She felt drained of everything she held close in her heart. Burnt into a harmless beast, her magic had returned to the pale embers of the other day. Still not dormant, but almost.

Now she had to find Richard and Zedd. All thoughts had left her head in the chase. She would have to backtrack to find them, and darkness was seeping into the land. She shivered as the shadows lengthened. Alone now and blooded too, like the doe, she wondered what predators could scent her now. The rabbits were still at her side, amazingly enough. Their blood dripped onto her skirts. The red stood out on her whites in stark accusation.

She sighed, and set out for what was currently her home.

"Kahlan!" Richard's voice was thin through the chirp of night insects. Full dark had settled, and she had been trudging for some time. Blood still caked her hands, and she rubbed her palms against her skirts yet again, trying to get rid of it. Raising her voice in answer seemed like too much work.

"Kahlan!" she could hear the fear and worry in his voice now. She sighed. He was going ask questions again, questions she did not want to answer.  A glimmer of light meant he was carrying a lantern. He was wandering the forest for her. Her heart gave an extra beat as she considered the dangers he was facing for her. If anything happened to him, the Seeker she loved, what would happen to her? The darkness seemed to beckon. Silence and surcease called her name.

"I’m here," she said, to strengthen her resolve. She had to go back. Richard needed her. "I am here."

He grasped her shoulders, and her magic barely stirred. Too exhausted to pull away, she simply said _don’t_ , and his hands slid from her.

“Where have you been? Why are you all bloodied?” he asked, his voice high with anxiety. Lifting the rabbits to him, she focused only on the corpses.

“I got distracted by a doe,” she said. “I hunted her, but things went wrong and she escaped. I’m sorry, Richard,” she said, darting a quick glance up to his eyes. “I would have liked to bring you venison tonight.”

“I was so worried,” he said, his hand finding hers so he could start leading her to the campfire. “I have been searching since sundown.” Stumbling into the clearing, she looked for Zedd, to find his gentle gaze already on her.

“And I was thinking,” she said. “Thinking deeply.” She tried to brush the blood from her hands on already stained material, then gave up on the cleanliness. Zedd appeared before her with one of their water flasks, and she gratefully accepted his gift of a few drops of water. Ripping the dress over her head, she squatted in her undergarments and leathers to fossick through her bag for another one.

“Thinking about what?” Richard was still standing next to the fire, rabbits in hand. Kahlan looked up at him, blinked, and shook her head. Questions were her enemy right now. She found herself staring at her belongings, unsure of what she was supposed to say or do.

“Richard…” Zedd said, his tone suggesting mediation and an attempt to ease the situation. Furious and frustrated, Richard glared at both of them.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” he shouted. “I let you help me when Denna tortured me,” he said and threw the rabbits next to the fire. “I love you, Kahlan. You must know that.”

“I’m sorry,” Kahlan said tonelessly, sitting next to her pack with her new dress in her hands. He knelt down next to her.

“Please, Kahlan. Tell me what happened. Please,” he begged. Kahlan stared into the fire, thinking of Darken and Richard. Both made their demands on her, and she had higher duties than herself. Richard needed a Confessor and Darken needed killing. Why was this her problem? Hadn’t she given and done enough?

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m so very tired, Richard. Please just give me time. I promise I’ll tell you all about it, but I just need more time.” Exhaustion leeched the volume from her words and he crouched in closer to hear her.

“I love you, Kahlan,” he said. She looked into eyes lit by campfire.

“I love you too Richard. More than anything.” Why did such words make her want to weep?


	5. Dream a Little Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darekn Rahl harnesses powerful magic and manages to draw Kahlan to him in her dreams. Bad things happen.

Crouched on his window ledge, Darken stared across the sun drenched rooftops that lead into forest.  Behind him, the dream catcher hummed and whined as it sifted through the dreams of any souls who might be sleeping. Sifting, searching, seeking for one particular dreamer. All night the machine had whined, but failed to catch her. Perhaps she had not slept; perhaps she was far enough away to be beyond the reach of the machine. He closed his eyes and rested his head against his knuckles as doubts raced through his thoughts. Council was waiting for him even as he brooded. Mord Sith gave him glances that he could read as worried.

Sleep would be a welcome option. Rest had been hard sought after, a seduction that failed time and time again. His pillows were still delicately scented with her. Someone should wash them. But then he might lose the last link to her.

Waiting made him grit his teeth and explode with impatience. If the damned machine didn’t catch her soon, he was going to smash the gears apart and pluck the gemsource from its heart. He considered how best to smash the recalcitrant machine when behind him a loud ‘kerchunk’ came as gears changed and the whine increased to a much higher pitch. Slowly, holding his breath, he turned around.

The machine looked exactly the same, but the vortex of magic held between two wooden legs lined with conductive metals had changed colour. Previously blue, it now whirled purple. Evidence indicated a catch, but where was the fish? Just passed the machine he saw a movement. Crossing his room in fast strides he paused in the archway to his bed chamber, one hand on hard stone as he stared. She lay in his bed, turned away from him. She wriggled again; that was what had caught his eye. He absorbed the sight of her in her Confessor’s whites. Did she always dream of herself this way, pristine and virginal and oh so beautiful?

Silent as a cat he slipped around the bed to view her face. Not a scratch or bruise marred her dream self. In this state she was vulnerable and he had many magics he could use on her. But already, it seemed, her magic was working on him. He drank the sight of her, asleep and trusting in his bed. A few more steps to the bed and he knelt beside her, stroking one thick lock of back hair from her face.

“Kahlan,” he murmured. Hearing his own voice shocked him. His hand jerked back from unbidden tenderness. She was just a woman, like any other, needing training. Sitting back on his heels, he concentrated on his Han. He placed his hands, palms facing each other before him, and using his fingers began to weave a Knot of Binding. In her dream self she could be taught to love him as he desired – and trained to fulfil all of his desires.

Eyes black with Han, he completed the spell, and released it directly into her heart. Then he leaned forwards, and kissed her on the temple.

“I give you the gift of obedience, Kahlan Amnell,” he said softly. “Wake up, love. I’ve missed you,” he said, giving her a gentle smile as she woke.

Her first reaction was to frown at him, and then her body tensed.

“What have you done to me? Where am I? Why am I here again?” she demanded, pushing him back so she could sit up and seeing her surroundings. Her hand grasped his throat, and he could feel the flare and swell of her magic. Black swirled around her pupils as her hand tightened. Realising who she held, she snatched her hand back.

“Get away from me,” she snarled. Surprised at the vehemence of her reaction, he paused for just a second, staring into her eyes as she struggled with an overflow of her power. 

“You trust me,” he instructed with a small cough. Instantly she smiled at him and relaxed, her hand dropping to her lap as she lay back to stretch across his bed, targeting kinks from her sleep. Rubbing his throat, he licked his lips as her movements drew his eyes along the line of her bust, the sweep of her waist and swell of her hips. He knelt with one knee on the bed, crouching over her.

“Welcome me,” he breathed into her ear.

“Darken,” she murmured, and ran a hand up his arm, along his ribs and curled around his neck. “I’ve missed you too,” she said. Only the most observant would have seen the tiny frown as she spoke the words. Noting he would need to repeat the spell he marvelled at her rebellion. Her will was stronger than any woman he had ensorcelled before. Sapphire resistance stared back at him even as her body performed to his orders.

Leaning on one elbow, he stroked the hair from her face, marvelling again that any such beautiful woman had failed to become a Mord’Sith. Quiescent in his arms, she did nothing for several seconds before once again the faint furrowing of her brow began.

“Kiss me, Kahlan,” he said, wanting the taste of her on him. He breathed deeply of her perfume and savoured the feeling of her in his bed.

Instantly her arms slid up his and around his neck, and she drew him down into her body and began to nibble wet heat on his ear before she met his mouth with hot passion. He delighted in her deeply, pleased to have more time to explore all of her. Writhing under him, her breasts pressed into his bare chest. Breaking the kiss, he lifted himself by one hand to strip the vest. Her hand slid across newly awakened flesh, and he could feel the hard points of her nipples against him. Movements slowed and eventually stilled.

“What… what..?” Kahlan formed half words. He could see her confusion as the spell’s tenuous grip slipped slightly. Gripping her hand, keeping the contact alive, he smiled into her beauty.

“Make love to me, Kahlan,” he instructed. A delighted grin replaced her confusion.  Her hands against his shoulders surprised him, and as she pushed he allowed his weight to fall as she moved across the bed. Straddling him with a laugh she started to draw her Confessor whites slowly up her body, showing well-muscled thighs until her skirts were free and the heat of her legs pressed around him. With a burn of lust, he realised she wore nothing below her dress. Her cunt was flush against his belly, his half interested cock nestled against her buttocks.

Heat radiated from his stomach to every inch of his skin.

A look of disgust swept across her face.

“You disgusting foul beast! What spell have you –“ she started to shout.

“Kiss me again, better than last time,” he said. He didn’t even lose his sneer as the spell had slipped, knowing he was in perfect control. Railing and abuse would not stop him from taking what he wanted, and neither could soft tears or begging. Kahlan would play her part in this dream, her soul desperate to confess him, and she was powerless. This gave him the rise he was looking for; the cock against her ass was now hard. A happy loving Kahlan was cute, but also kind of… boring? A tiny noise of protest, but her sweet wet mouth was on his, lushly demanding his own passion.

“Sweetness,” he moaned as she clasped his face with both hands. “Kiss me more.” She angled her face so she could work on his ear again, and he closed his eyes as she nipped and suckled.

“Harder,” he muttered thoughtlessly. He almost felt the shockwave of joy as she bit; he dragged her away with a yell. “Apologize on your knees,” he shouted harshly. Instantly she fell to the rug next to the bed onto her hands and knees.

“I’m so sorry, Darken Rahl, despoiler and beast,” she panted, the apology flowing straight into vitriol.

“Back where you were,” he shouted.

“Damn you,” she snarled as her body moved back onto the bed. Straddling him as though he were a horse, she dragged the dress from between them. “I hate you with every fibre of my being. Damn you and all your Mord’Sith. If I had my daggers…” she ran her hands along her calves as he reached up and gathered the bodice of her dress in his fists. 

“Don’t!” her hands flitted to his wrists.

“Bare your breasts,” he gritted. Glaring down at him like a queen, her breath coming in large rough gasps as she let go of his wrists, and slowly reached up to the laces. The tempo of lust mixed with anger was just the right cocktail he enjoyed. His eyes feasted as the material slipped downwards centimetre by centimetre. He was even able to ignore her voice as she rained down invectives on his head. Impatient, he reached up again and grasped the material in both hands and dragged the dress down. She gasped as her shoulders were suddenly bared, and her hands were the only thing covering her modesty.

“Has Richard ever feasted his eyes upon you like this?” he asked with a cruel smile. She fell silent, frozen in immobility.

“Answer me!” his voice cracked with fury.

“No,” she whispered. “Why do you even ask me that?” she asked, her voice small and vulnerable.

“Obviously because I wanted to know,” he drawled, reaching up to caress the softness of her breast. Her hands were baring all at an excruciatingly slow rate. She was learning her own way around this spell – as was he.

“Faster,” he said. She glared furiously but suddenly her nipples were before him, and he felt a swell of delight at her obedience. “Obedience becomes you,” he murmured in a compliment to her.

“Bastard,” she sneered.

His hands cupped the heavy weight of her breasts, and he ran his thumbs over her aureole, curious to see if she would respond. Her limbs tangled as she tried to fold her arms over her chest.

“How does it feel, Kahlan?” he asked, the question fuzzy enough that his only response was a mutinous bite of her lip. “Answer me!” he insisted.

“It kind of hurts,” she admitted, her eyes going anywhere but at him. “It’s almost pleasurable but it hurts.” Almost pleasurable? His hands did have the callouses and marks of a swordsman. Violence did tend to leave its marks. His tanned skin against the white tones of her breasts was a sight he wanted to keep forever. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, and looked up to see her eyes were closed.

“Did you like that? Answer me,” he whispered in a low purr. He was sure he felt an infinitesimal increase in warmth on his belly.

“No,” she said, lifting her chin. Lies were impossible under a spell of obedience. So she had to be hedging somehow.

“Did this bring you pleasure?” he asked, and repeated the action, taking care to slide his callouses against the tender flesh. Like was subjective after all. Hatred was a powerful disincentive to liking an action.

“Yes,” the word was dragged from her lips by the spell. Her hand flashed and she slapped him. Darken’s hand dropped to his cheek to feel the blood rushing to his skin. He tasted his own lip. Her defiant, terrified eyes stared down at him. The longer he stayed silent, the more her fear would win over her defiance. And the faster the spell would run down, he realised as her body jerked.

“Stay,” he instructed as she started to lift herself from him. Her hands cupped her face, hiding her from him. He reached up to slide his hands under her arms, to her bare shoulders, and he dragged her down to him, forcing her mouth against his. Struggles did not deter him, and he decided he was tired of this game.

“Open your thighs to me, Confessor,” he whispered into her ear when he tired of her mouth. Minute movements about his waist meant her cunt was pressed harder into him. Tilting his hips as a not so gentle reminder, he let go of her. She half sprawled across him, her weight on one hand. Breasts hung before his mouth; it was too easy to suckle the teat before him. He heard her moan, and splayed his hands along her ribs, pressing her hips back.

“Ride me, Mother Confessor,” he instructed. With a low moan she rocked backwards, impaling herself on his cock. He savoured the slick sweetness of her, closing his eyes and demanding “Confess me, Mother Confessor.”

“Oh,” Kahlan moaned, and the hand on his shoulder changed to a gentle caress. Her magic flared into full strength, hammering at him. He bucked as his skin warmed with the flow, and her head fell forward as she lost herself into waves of power. Her body flexed and tightened around him in tides he recognized as oncoming orgasm. Unable to allow her the purest bliss he crushed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Darken!” she cried out, flinging her head back as pain coloured her pleasure.

“Come, Kahlan. Confess me now,” he said, thrusting up as he denied his own satisfaction, forcing his orgasm back again and again until her magic stormed against his skin and her cunt tightened around his cock and pleasure overwhelmed his defences.

“Sweetness,” he murmured into her hair as he slowly came back to himself. Sprawled across him, he was still sheathed within her. Hair tumbled across his chest and he inhaled the perfume of their activities. Jerking away from him she slid off to lie against his side. Her breath came fast and heavy, and she seemed surprisingly comfortable against his weight.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, curious about her post-coital glow. She had obviously orgasmed and been pleasured, and this time without being mostly asleep. Should he take this as a win? 

“Thoughts,” she replied, the hand still on his chest clutching into a fist as she struggled against the spell. He clasped the hand, noting the cold of her fingers.

“Tell me the specifics of your thoughts,” he insisted.

“My magic is satisfied,” she said slowly. Perhaps even a sense of wonder coloured her words. Had she been having trouble? His own Han liked to be used. Was Confession along similar lines?

“This is unusual for you,” he said, rolling to his side and sliding one arm under her head for her pillow. This pliant Kahlan was a delight to behold. No rebellion showed in her clear blue gaze, just thoughtfulness. Fear did not show in her eyes at all. He studied her gaze. Fearlessness was unique in the People’s Palace. Kahlan was a rare bird indeed.

“My powers draw heavily from me,” she said. “Lately they rise and my struggle to control them has been difficult. But now… they lie dormant. Even within this dream you have created, I felt the need burning within me. And now… it’s gone.”

Skin called to him, and he raised one hand to trail his thumb along her cheek, but her free hand caught his.

“You do not have the right to make free with my body,” she said, her gaze sharpening on him.

“I could order you to allow it,” he reminded her.

“And ruin such a lovely relationship?” she asked with a twisted smile. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, Darken Rahl. I will destroy you. I will aid Richard in every way. The longer you leave me alive, the more time and effort I can put into this quest.” Every word dropped between them like stones into a well.

“Perhaps I am raising the stakes,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps two warring counties and a failing barrier isn’t enough to keep me busy. Training an unwilling mate could take up the spare time I have allocated,” he said, smiling back into her eyes.

“I will destroy this spell.” Conviction showed in her eyes.

“I will build it, again and again,” he promised. He pulled his hand from her grasp and took hold of her shoulder. “You are mine, Kahlan, in ways your Seeker and Wizard cannot even imagine. You will be my Queen, and you will answer to no one save me. And if you will not be my Queen, then you will be my brood mare to bear my successors.” The words spilled from him without thought, without hesitation. His heartfelt plans spilled on the silk between them, new and squalling even to himself. Cara had borne his child once, and he had every faith Cara’s bloodline would run true, but a Confessor brood could rule the world.

“Thank you, Rahl,” she said, and he frowned at her. “Now I know what the stakes really are.”

“You would make a superb Mord’Sith,” he whispered as his hand skittered down the bare skin of her shoulder. A shudder was the only response he got. Now the fear in her eyes was gone, what else could he see? Nothing, he determined. She was waiting. Waiting for this time to end? Waiting for something to happen? She wouldn’t escape until she slept again. He pulled her against him, and murmured against her temple. “Not that you aren’t a superb Confessor, of course.”

“Don’t patronise me,” she said into his chest. “I’m so incredibly tired. My magic is all gone. Perhaps now I can get some decent sleep,” she said, and wriggled around until her back was presented to him. He rolled against her, sliding one hand along her hip and then around her belly. Nails dragged along his skin; and then her hand settled around his wrist.

Armfuls of Confessor were the last thing he had expected. As her breathing slowed and deepened, he stared past her at the machine. What was he doing here? He wanted to shout at himself. Of all the whores to cherish, why this one? A brigade of Mord’Sith wasn’t enough? A Confessor for a Queen? His Mord’Sith would be mutinous! His military hated the Mord’Sith enough, a Confessor Queen and Heir would drive them one step further from loyalty.

A soft sigh, and her body slipped from visibility. She would be awakening somewhere, filthy, cold, and bereft of his warmth. Unbidden, his hand slipped into the rapidly cooling curves in his bed.


End file.
